Murray on the decline of marriage

The right tends to have orgasms over Charles Murray, because he is a rightist that is tolerated by the regnant left, albeit barely tolerated, therefore wonderfully high status as compared to the rest of the right, since regular rightists are not tolerated by our masters, therefore regular rightists are low status. Is it not wonderful to be allowed to get close to Charles Murray, who is allowed to get close enough to our masters for them to spit on him?

But, if he is tolerated, he has to be far to the left of reality, indeed almost as far out in la la land as any Dean of Diversity Studies. From where I stand, having confidence in evolutionary psychology and the wisdom of our ancestors (but I repeat myself), I can barely see the difference between Charles Murray and the Dean of Diversity Studies.

I now critique his latest interview:

Edward Luce interviews Murray on marriage, after chatting at length on whiter people dining.

Observe how the intro to this interview carefully delineates all the markers of high status:

the waiter says the black-truffle pasta is still on the menu, and we both order it as a starter

By the way, I am writing this after snacking on pork belly, roast potatoes, and home made wine fortified with a touch of moonshine and a bit of fermented prickly pear juice for added flavor and vivid blood red color. Mmmmm, pork belly. And the prickly pear is guaranteed to obliterate all those delicate subtleties of flavor and color that might have gotten into the wine during the fermentation process. And some instant coffee to compensate for the alcohol.

There is something wonderfully proletarian about pork belly, even though it is almost the same meal as pork spare ribs with some supposedly authentic Chinese seasoning, a meal beloved of whiter people when their pretense of being vegetarian collapses. Similarly fermented prickly pear, which should be a whiter people drink due to being obscure, organic, supposedly healthful, and all that, is not in the least a whiter people drink because it is as vividly colored and potently flavored as the stuff that blacks drink. I did not deliberately compose this meal to ridicule Charles Murray and his whiter people interviewer. I ate first, then read the interview.

Are you not impressed by the fact that this interviewer eats with Charles Murray, a man whose status is so high that our masters let him get close enough to them for them to spit on him? Clearly the interviewer expects you to be impressed.

And, by the way, should you find yourself dining an expensive restaurant with an elite newspaper paying the bill, don’t order black truffle pasta, because it contains only homeopathic amounts of black truffle. If you want to gain actual status from what you eat, try eating actual black truffles. If your expense account covers actual black truffles, then that will impress me. I am distinctly unimpressed by black truffle pasta. Back when we our ruling elite actually was elite, they ate truffles, so today’s whiter people imitate them by eating overpriced spaghetti with truffles in the name. You can do a lot better than spaghetti on an expense account.

And only whiter people think they can tell the difference between varietal wines and regular plonk. With a varietal wine, you are supposed to demonstrate your knowledge about the variety, all of which knowledge you actually cribbed.

After numerous whiter people dining tips, in which we are once again reminded that this is an expensive restaurant and the Financial Times is picking up the tab, and the interviewer and interviewee frequently hang out at this expensive restaurant (did I mention it was expensive) , we read some actual cultural critique.

“Whatever the Victorians did right in England, we need to resuscitate over here,” says Murray, between concluding mouthfuls of his pasta. “In the late 19th century, the entire English population were propagandized into buying into a certain code of morals. I would be happy if we could emulate that in some way in America.” Then he pauses: “But that gets into the whole question of whether the elite has the self-confidence in its own rightness.”

The rot started with the Victorians. Victorianism was the political correctness of its day. The state intervened in the family to dismantle patriarchal marriage, which is to say, to dismantle traditional marriage, new testament marriage, a change as arrogant and destructive as gay marriage.

Previously everyone knew that society needed patriarchal marriage because women were lecherous animals, and unless firmly kept in hand, the family would collapse, followed shortly by society. The account of women that one today reads on Pick Up Artist blogs was the standard mainstream view in the Georgian period.

To rationalize this disruptive and coercive change, to persuade people it would not lead to the collapse of the family, the state proceeded with a propaganda offensive on how women were chaste and pure delicate flowers threatened by vile lecherous men, which today is taken to ever greater extremes in ever more one sided rape, date, and domestic violence laws – for all the horrible details read your favorite Men’s Rights Activist blog. All the dreadful stuff that Men’s Rights Activists are complaining about got started with the Victorian propaganda offensive that Charles Murray is so impressed by.

Murray is now on to his barramundi, an Asian sea bass, while I have grilled sardines, both “drizzled with lemon”

Barramundi is deservedly high status because in places where you can get it reasonably fresh, it is very good. Washington is not one of those places. If you live in some place where people need to explain what barramundi is, the reason they need to explain is that it is not all that good. If you supposedly know about the variety of your varietal wine, you should know that barramundi needs to be fresh to be high status. Murray was eating thawed barramundi. Oh the horror.

Explaining about food status has made me feel like snacking on a bit more roast potato. And, by the way, we food cognoscenti call barramundi “barra” to show that we are so high status that the high status of barramundi does not impress us.

Maybe I will have some more instant coffee. Now if only someone would sell a coffee guaranteed to be slow roasted by oppressed workers forced to work in unbearable heat, perhaps I would get interested in varietal coffee.

“If you are arguing that 22-year-old men are saying to their girlfriends, ‘I just need a job and then I’ll behave responsibly …’ Well, that’s just bullshit. If you ask women in working class communities, they will say, ‘Why should I marry these losers? It’s like taking another child into the household.’ ”

The problem is that a working class job does not suffice to marry a working class woman, so working class men have no incentive to get working class jobs. Woman always marry up, and Uncle Sam the Big Pimp is higher status than a working class husband. Wives of upper class men are well behaved provided that they are slightly less upper class than their husbands, because Uncle Sam the Big Pimp is lower status than an upper class husband. Upper class career women, in particular lawyers are deadly, because they cannot marry men who are even higher status than themselves, so instead bang musicians, thugs, and sportsmen. As a result, they fail to marry or reproduce.

Any fertile age woman will tell you that only one man in thirty is barely acceptable. Since they seem to be getting laid we may conclude that Mister One In Thirty is a very busy man. As their fertile years start running out, they start looking for someone to marry, but how many men want to marry a woman whose fertile years are running out, and who will always compare him with two dozen of “Mister One in Thirty”?

I first had sex with my wife when she was a teenager, but the younger generation is finding that increasingly difficult to accomplish. So you get a job, keep your nose to the cubicle, and at the age of forty, get to marry a woman who has ridden a whole bunch of men she thinks are a lot better than you, and is getting close to forty herself. Oh what an incentive. Why even try?

The Gavi is going down fast

Naturally readers who are so high status that they read stuff by people sufficiently high status to eat with Charles Murray, who is so high status that our rulers allow him close enough to spit on him, would know that Gavi is an expensive varietal wine, and could doubtless give a lengthy discourse about cortese grapes and Italian vineyards. Perhaps the grapes were grown on the sunny side of the hill. Unfortunately I am out of moonshine and cannot easily get any more.